Musical therapy, or Sherlock's IPod
by kateomega97
Summary: Post-Fall. Short therapy sessions where John talks about Sherlock's music tastes. Because Sherlock listens to music too, and not just classical music.
1. Dirty Little Secret

I had to go to get his things from the Yard today.

_Couldn't Lestrade bring them over?_

He was out- Donovan called me.

_Oh. Interesting. What did she say?_

She told me that it had been three months and that they needed the space. That I needed to move his stuff out by tonight or she'd get rid of it.

_How did you react to that, John?_

I was so, so angry. And also so sad. She's moved on. Anderson too. They don't even know that it's their fault. They think they were right.

_The files say they were._

That's what Donovan said when I told her that she could have some sensitivity considering how it was her fault that he's….gone. That bitch told me that he was a lying, messed up, homicidal, egotistical sociopath.

_Isn't he? Again, the files, John. _

No. He isn't. Everyone thought he was this huge, cold, robotic thing and he wasn't. That's just how he kept himself safe. Everyone gets bitten by the world. That was just how he coped. Donovan and Anderson think he is….was….some beast that was incapable of loving, or even living, or smiling from happiness rather than spite, or dancing…

_Dancing, John?_

There was a day…a couple months after I moved in…we hadn't had a case in a while, I was working at the surgery, and he was doing experiments all the time. Heads in the fridge, poisonous chemicals next to the food and such. It was a gorgeous day. Blue skies, and warm. A rarity for London, so I left work a couple hours early and walked home. And as I approached the house I heard, lo and behold, an absurdly loud drumbeat was blasting from the house. I honestly thought he'd exploded something again. My first thought was "Oh, Jesus, Mrs. Hudson's going to bloody kill him."

_But it wasn't an explosion._

No. It was All American Rejects. I went racing into the house to try to get to him, I bolt up the stairs, and he's dancing. In his bathrobe, at the kitchen table with a pipette in his hand, and he's dancing while he mixes chemicals. To Dirty Little Secret. The last thing I would have every expected from him, and yet apparently he liked rock. So there we stood, me with my jaw on the floor, him shaking his hips and spinning to the guitar riff in his bathrobe, and he just looked me in the eye and grinned. I got used to his insensitivity, his running, his violin, but his music tastes, they were so uncharacteristic that I never asked. I just watched. I still have his IPod sitting in the IHome. I never told anyone he had an IPod. I'm afraid to go through it. I feel like it would ruin his mystique.

_You should, John. It might help. _

Yes, well, maybe. For now it's just fine.


	2. Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na)

We went to a party once.

_Oh, really?_

It was one of Donovan's parties. He'd saved her life that week and I suppose she felt like it was her responsibility to be nice, so she invited him. Donovan's parties are infamous.

_Infamous how?_

Well she's a slut, yeah? So it was like college all over again. Except he didn't do these types of things in college.

_Did something go wrong?_

Well, he'd had a bit to drink. A lot to drink. But so had everyone else. And a song came on from Donovan's IPod that I guess he didn't like, and he told her so.

_What did she say?_

She put her hand on her hip and said "Think you can do better, freak?" and he looked her dead in the eyes and smirked, cheeky bastard. Then he darted over and before I could stop him, he had pulled his IPod from his pocket and switched it in.

_What did you do?_

I damn near had a bloody heart attack, that's what. But then out of the speakers he blasted My Chemical Romance. And he danced. He was bloody good at it, too. Stole the show. It was brilliant, Donovan was furious. I guess all the practice at Baker Street must have paid off. I had made him wear jeans so he'd be sort of normal, and he had a suit jacket and a cotton button down shirt on and his dress shoes and he looked very trendy. I thought he was going to take one of those girls home for sure, and then I'd have to stay at Lestrade's, or something, but he didn't. Not that he didn't get offers, but he just smiled and shook his head and passed every one off to another guy. I was bloody confused, because he was being so well behaved, and normal, and maybe it was the alcohol, I don't know, but it was bloody weird.

_Intriguing. And how did you react to tipsy Sherlock?_

It got to a point where I decided he must've overdone it or something and I told him we should head home. He just grinned and shook his head, and when I reached out to grab him he pulled me in to dance with him. I kept telling him that I couldn't dance, that he was drunk, that we should go back to Baker Street, but every time I tried to get away he pulled me back. He was really good at dancing, and the lights were flashing and he was laughing and I thought, he's enjoying himself, why not stay? So I did. I danced with him until I woke up the next morning on Donovan's couch with a headache and found him lying on the floor of her bathroom nursing a massive hangover. Served him right, hah.

_What did you do then? _

Well, I waited until he'd stopped heaving into the toilet, and then I got him some Advil and some water and I took him home. I called us in sick and we closed the curtains at 221 B and slept it off. I had no idea whether or not he remembered any of it, so I asked him, and he did. You know what else I asked him?

_What?_

Why he'd been so nice to everyone. D'you know what he said?

_What?_

He said it was because he'd scared me during the case that week.

_Oh?_

It had been a close case. He'd gone missing for about six hours and I was deathly afraid that he was hurt, or….killed. He said he didn't want to worry me or annoy me or bother me so he acted normal. For me. That man put on a show, just because he thought I'd be happier that way. Although apparently the dancing was not part of the plan. So I told him that I was happier when we had adventures that didn't end in headaches and that I preferred when he was himself. And he said that that was all fine and good. I told him that maybe next time we should just skip Donovan's parties. Y'know what he said to that?

_What?_

That they weren't so bad, and that he liked dancing, so maybe we could go again. Bloody insane, he was. I miss him.


End file.
